


A Feud of Meals and Gold

by Hana_Noiazei



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: BelaTai, Crack, Crazy Rich Asians Parody, Drama, Fluff, HongIce, I'm Sorry, MonaCau, Multi, This toes the line between fluff and crack, it's also Terrible, non-binary characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27939800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hana_Noiazei/pseuds/Hana_Noiazei
Summary: After years of dating, Leon finally decides to bring his boyfriend home to meet his brothers. One catch, though - he never managed to tell Harald that he belongs to a family of ultra-rich billionaires.
Relationships: Belarus/Taiwan (Hetalia), Hong Kong/Iceland (Hetalia), Kugelmugel & Ladonia (Hetalia), Macau/Monaco (Hetalia)
Kudos: 17





	1. The Dragon Room

_W Hotel, London_

The best staff lunches Harald have ever had in his eight years are spent in the kitchen of the Dragon Room, or otherwise known as W Hotel’s best, most famous restaurant. After nearly six hours of rushing around, ordering his cooks around like some deranged general, it’s soothing to be able to sit at his bench and eat some of the country’s finest food.

This noon, he and his team dig into plates of scallion-and-black-truffle pancakes, silken tofu garnished with herring caviar and gold-leaf osmanthus jellies, quiet save for the occasional comment on their own cooking. Harald’s just clearing the plates and getting the _mise en place_ ready for the afternoon when the kitchen doors swing open.

The chatter that was emanating from the cooks suddenly fades. Busy chipping off blocks of frozen beef broth, he doesn’t bother turning around and calls, “what is it?”

His sous chef taps his shoulder. “Mr. Wang’s here,” she whispers.

Harald stabs the block. 

Two benches away, being eyed by some of the line chefs, the owner of W Hotel himself approaches him. Unprofessional as ever, Leon’s wearing Harald’s jacket that he totally stole from the night before, unruly hair falling into his face. “Good afternoon, Chef Grieg,” he greets like they didn’t have a pillow fight in their room just that morning. “How’s everything so far?”

“Fine, thank you.” He nods; the urge to abandon his work and lunge to kiss Leon is overwhelming. “What brings you here? I trust you have work to do.”

“I just wanted to see how you all are doing,” Leon says nonchalantly. He leans on one of the benches, nearly planting his hand right onto a dish full of eggs. “And ask for leftovers.”

He snorts. “Well, too bad. We just finished lunch so there’s nothing for you.”

“Aww. Not even for me?”

“No.” Harald crosses his arms, fixing his boyfriend with the meanest, strictest stare he can muster. “Now, I’m sorry, Mr. Wang, but we have to get back to work soon. We’re a busy restaurant, you see.”

Leon shrugs, replying, “all right, then. Be sure to save me some food for tonight. Goodbye for now, everyone.”

Once he’s disappeared from the kitchen, the patissier gives Harald a smile while going to his bench. “I’m surprised he hasn’t lost his temper yet, with the way you talk to him.”

“Leon likes me too much to get mad,” he says. “No more talking, now. We have half a day of work ahead of us.”

…

“Here.” Harald tosses a plastic box of smoked ginger-and-scallion chicken and rice onto their dining table. “Things we cooked.”

“Someone’s grumpy.”

“I burned myself.” He lets himself pout as he flings dramatically himself onto Leon’s shoulder. He shows him the new red stripe on his wrist. “You have to kiss it better now.”

He dutifully takes hold of his wrist and presses his lips to it, kissing it a second time for good measure. “Better?”

“Definitely.” Harald opens the box and spoons its contents onto a plate, then sticks it into the oven. “You scared the hell out of all the cooks when you came in this afternoon, you know. They wouldn’t stop talking about you.”

“I’m glad to hear I have that kind of impression on people.”

Letting out a tiny “hmph”, he jostles Leon until the two of them are sitting on the same plush dining chair. “Well, it’s not every day the owner of the very hotel you work in shows up to watch you.”

The oven makes a “ding!” sound. Leon goes to pull their steaming dinner out. He passes Harald his silverware and tips half the food onto another plate. “I actually showed up to tell you something. In hindsight, it wasn’t smart to do that with twenty other people around, but whatever.”

He’s already ravenously tucking into the food but acknowledges him with a brief nod.

“Vic’s getting married in November, back in Hong Kong.” Leon nibbles on a piece of chicken. “It’s going to be the biggest event in Asia, and, like, half the continent’s going to be there.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mmhmm. I’ll be going, too, and I want to know if you want to come with me.” He casually wraps an arm around Harald’s waist, grinning. “and you could meet my family in the process.”

Harald snuggles into his side and asks, “how long is it going to be?”

“The wedding itself is just one day, of course, but I’m planning to go for three weeks. I haven’t been back in Hong Kong for years.”

He considers it, though Leon’s warmth is distracting. “I guess I can have the sous take over. She’ll be happy to be in charge for once.” Leon still hasn’t touched his food. Harald spoons some rice and pokes at his mouth with the spoon, persisting until he finally relents and eats. “And I’ll look forward to meeting all the people you grew up with.”

“Well, you already know Vic,” Leon says, referring to his older brother. “You worked with him a few times in Monte-Carlo.”

“Oh yeah, him and Madeline. Can’t believe they’re finally tying the knot after, what, three years?”

“Two,” he corrects. “And that’s not too long. We’ve been dating for three, and we’re still not married.”

There’s the M-word. Harald looks down and blushes. “Well, we are younger than them,” he stammers, “and way busier, plus - “

“Yeah, yeah, I understand.” He pecks him on the forehead, smiling. “We don’t have to discuss that now. I’m happy with the way we are.”

…

After dinner is over, Leon leaves Harald to sort out his cooks while he calls his brother. After a few minutes, Vicente’s face appears on the screen of his computer. “Oh, hello.”

“It’s been a while. Did you finally grow the balls to propose to Madeline?”

“Actually, it was the other way around.” He looks like he’s in his office, even though it’s nearly midnight. “We had dinner at the _Café de Paris_ a couple months ago, then she pulled out the ring when we were walking by the sea afterwards. And, uh, yeah.”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs, “oh my goodness, I can see you blushing. Are you eight or twenty-eight?”

“Shut up, I bet you’d cry if Harald proposed.” He steeples his fingers, peering closer at the screen. “Speaking of which, how is he?”

“Adorable as always. He’s coming back to Hong Kong with me.”

Vicente raises an eyebrow. “You’re taking him to see Yao?”

“Yeah, we’ve been together long enough.” Leon lowers his voice and murmurs, “with luck, I’ll get his blessing to marry Harald.”

“You haven’t told him about your relationship status, though,” he mulls, “and I’m pretty sure you haven’t told Harald about… y’know.”

“I know he’ll be okay with it.”

“With the money, perhaps, but not everyone else. They’d tear him apart in a day.”

Leon crosses his arms. “No, they won’t. You’ve met him before and was fine with it.”

“It took me a while to warm up to Harald. How long do you think someone as antiquated as Yao is going to take?”

He doesn’t have an answer to that. His eldest brother is old-fashioned as Hell, but hey, it’s the twenty-first century. He has to come around eventually. 

Vicente continues, “I’m not going to stop you from bringing Harald, because it’s about time he sees the city we grew up in. But you’re going to have to tell him about our background sooner or later.”

Suddenly sombre, Leon heaves a sigh and hovers his mouse over the “end call” icon. “I’ll think about it. Thanks for the advice. See you in Hong Kong soon.”

“See you.”

And with that, the call is over.

Leon spends a few minutes just staring at the screen, mulling over what his brother told him. As much as he hates to admit it, he'll _have_ to tell Harald about how he grew up sooner or later. He's just not sure when he should do it.


	2. Breaching Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an OC in this chapter:
> 
> Gabriella "Ella" Sabularse - Philippines

_Sabularse & Co., Manila_

There are many things Ella is proud of. There’s the fact that her grades have never dipped below a ninety-five in her twenty years of schooling, for one, or how she graduated at the top of her class at Oxford. There’s the fact that she got her master’s degree in business admin in Switzerland without a hitch, and the fact that she managed to completely reform her father’s company to be one of the most successful in the country. 

But what most of Asia’s elite know her best for is her ability to always be on the top of things. If she were to meet another of the wealthy, within fifteen minutes she’d know their full name, their parents’ names, their extended family dating back to fifty years, their approximate net worth, some of the properties they own around the world, the cars, yachts and private jets (and on one occasion, the submarines) they own and about how much they’re worth, their jewelry collection, their friends, enemies and partners (if applicable) and possibly their pets. And by the end of the day, the rest of the continent’s top percent would know, too.

No new gossip has permeated Asia for a whole month now, nor has any hot news reached her ears. That’s rare - Ella can usually manage to dig something up after a fortnight of relative peace and throw the rich folks into another state of chaos and pettiness.

_It has to be the calm before a storm_ , she thinks while on a break. Ella’s put her two hundred and fifty-three (she counted) emails on hold to take a drink of water before she has to go back to work. But before her fifteen minutes of rest are up, her phone rings - her personal one, not her business one.

Ella narrows her eyes. Only a handful of people know her personal number, and they all know she can be a total bitch when she’s disturbed during a break. Which idiot’s calling? 

She leans over, peers at the screen and sighs. Of course. Ella picks up her phone. “Well, if it isn’t my least-favourite gnome.”

Halfway across the world, Leon’s crackly voice retorts, “well, fuck you too.”

“You are so rude, you know? That’s no way to talk to your _Ate_ Ella. Haven’t you learnt _any_ manners at all in London?”

“You started it!” Three years her junior but also a head shorter, Leon was her classmate in Switzerland. He was a bumbling idiot hopped up on inheritance money, with no clue how anything worked. If not for her, he probably would’ve failed a month in. “I’ll have you know, I’ve grown a lot now that the Hong Kong pollution isn’t stunting my growth - “

“Okay, okay, whatever you say.” Ella looks at the glass vase at the corner of her desk, holding a few sweet-smelling frangipani. She made a habit of picking some up on the way to work. “Now why did you call? Did you get a new car? Sculpture? One of those abandoned castles in rural Glasgow?”

“Oh, Ella, you know me so well.” Leon snorts. “But I didn’t buy anything new.”

“So what is it?”

“I’m bringing my boyfriend to Hong Kong.”

“You’re - “ she sputters - “you’re _what_?”

“Bringing him home, just in time for Vicente and Madeline’s wedding. He’s going to meet my brother.”

“Well, good _fuck_ -ing luck. Your brother’s the most backwards man I know, and when someone like me says that, you know it’s bad.” Ella stretches. She really needs to get back to work, but this news is too good to give up. “I’ll be going, too. I’ll get the chance to see your pretty boy-toy in person then.”

“I’ll start mentally preparing him, in that case,” Leon says. “Anyway, I have to go. I’m heading to work soon. And before you ask, my hotel’s doing fine. Harald’s the head chef at its main restaurant, and nothing can go wrong with him in charge.”

“Harald?” She repeats. “I assume that’s the name of your man?”

“That’s the one.” Someone else is talking in the background, and he raises his voice to make himself audible. “It was nice talking to you. See you soon.”

“Bye.”

Right after Leon’s hung up, Ella clicks onto her messages and peers at her contacts. Oh, this is going to be the juiciest piece of news Asia has ever seen. But who to call first?

…

_Le Ciel, Vienna_

When he first entered into the realm of the elite, Yao thought he’d be looked down upon, mocked as one of those new-money nobodies who popped up from luck alone. Thankfully that wasn’t the case, though, and all his _gwailo_ old money friends see him as an equal.

Said friends are having the most excellent lunch with him, gathered in one of Austria’s finest restaurants. Their gracious host, one _Wienerphilharmoniker_ violinist Roderich Edelstein, signs the check without a glance. Their meal cost nearly two hundred euros in total.

Seated next to him, Francis Bonnefoy (yes, of _the_ Bonnefoy Hotels) takes a bite of their pandan-caramel _babas au rhum_ and asks, “so what have the young ones been up to recently?”

Arthur Kirkland, referred to by those with too much time on their hands as Lord Arthur James Harry Tarquin Edward George Charles Richard William Reginald Trevor Ronald Phillip David Kirkland the Fourth, Earl of Leicester, replies, “Alfred is having a _fine_ time in New York. He started that lovely charity of his and everyone loves him.”

“Is it true that he donated _all_ of his inheritance?” 

“Yes indeed.” Arthur shrugs; his younger brother has always been the less uppity one. “I won’t stop him, of course, because he mentions that he’s related to me in every interview he has. It’s mighty good PR. And your siblings, Francis?”

“Matthieu is doing well, as usual. That stuffed animal manufacturer of his that I funded is one of the most popular in Canada.” Francis winks at Yao. “And my Madeline is divine.”

“You ought to be very proud of her,” Yao chips in. “She’s a natural at managing a hotel, that one, and with my brother’s help, they’re practically rolling in cash now. Ka Lun is very lucky to have her by his side.”

“And they’re finally getting married, too!” They exclaim. “The wedding is going to be simply extravagant. I will be there, of course, I can’t not see my baby sister off.” Francis wipes at their eyes dramatically. “And how about you, Roderich? How’s that child of yours faring?”

Roderich is the only one out of the four of them with a child, something that has made him the subject of subtle envy. It’s one thing to have talented siblings, it’s another to have a prodigy of a kid. He smiles softly, yet proudly. “Jo is as brilliant as ever.” 

Jo Edelstein is Roderich’s only child, a genius of an artist despite being only twelve. They were sent off to an elite art school in Sweden after their first four years of primary school were complete, and is probably already on track to be one of the generation’s best creators.

“The last time they called they wouldn’t stop talking about a friend they made,” Roderich continues. “He’s a boy in their class named Niklas Väinämöinen-Oxenstierna.”

“That’s certainly a mouthful,” Arthur remarks. 

“Says Arthur James Harry Tarquin Edward George Cha - “

“Shut up, Francis.”

“I looked Niklas up, and he doesn’t come from too awful a family.” He stirs his cup of coffee. “One of his fathers is a professor, I believe, and you may have heard of the other one.”

“Who is it?” Yao asks.

“That famous architect Berwald Oxenstierna. He doesn’t have that high a net worth, but his reputation more than makes up for it.” Roderich looks up, peers through his glasses. “But enough of my rambling. We already know how Vicente is doing. What about Leon, Yao?”

Ah, Leon. Yao would be lying if he said he hadn’t wanted to throw the little shit into the sun at least once. At least he’s grown out of his chaotic tendencies for the most part. “Well,” he starts, “Leon is Leon. W Hotel is doing okay as far as I know - at least, it hasn’t gotten into any scandals.” His phone starts to vibrate in his pocket. “Now, if you would give me a moment.”

He accepts the call once he’s distanced himself from the table. “Good afternoon, this is Jing Yao Wang.”

“Hey! How are you?”

“Yue Ling!” He smiles. Yue Ling Pisetskaya-Lin, self-made Taiwanese fashion queen, is like a little sister to him. “I’m doing great, thank you. You?”

“Absolutely amazing. My clothing chain has two new branches!”

“Oh, congratulations!” He leans against the wall of the restaurant. “But it must be so early in Taipei. Aren’t you sleepy?”

Ling giggles. “I’m not in Taipei right now. I actually flew to Milan for the ribbon-cutting of my new branch there. A branch in _Milan_ , Yao! Now all that’s left is Paris.”

“That’s amazing. Is your wife with you?”

“Natalia is on tour in Germany at the moment, but she’ll join me next week. Then we’re departing for Hong Kong together.”

Natalia Plisetskaya-Lin _was_ a principal dancer at the Bolshoi Ballet in Moscow, until she publicly announced her marriage to Ling and faced so much backlash she had to leave the country. It might’ve worked to her benefit, though - now free from the Bolshoi’s grasp, all the other big companies around the world are fighting to have her as a guest artist. Ling keeps talking. “Speaking of Hong Kong, I heard some news about Leon.”

“What is it?”

“Well, I heard from Kiku who heard from Yong-Soo who heard from Linh who heard from Somchai who heard from Lauren who heard from Ella who heard from Leon _himself_ that he’s bringing his boyfriend to Vic and Maddie’s wedding.”

“Right. That.” He was never told that Leon had a boyfriend! _Oh, goodness, how long have the two been dating? How serious are they? Which family is he from?_

“I assume you didn’t know, but that’s fine. I only found out today, too. Ella says the boyfriend’s name is Harald, which doesn’t ring any bells but I’m sure he’s somebody.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Yao wheezes.

“He must be _really_ into Harald if he’s bringing him to Hong Kong,” Ling says conspiratorially. “D’you think he’s going to ask for your blessing to marry him?”

_Not the M-word!_ “I have to go now,” he announces. “I hope I’ll see you at the wedding.”

“Bye-bye. I hope to see you soon!”

When Ling’s hung up, Yao quickly makes a few Google searches on the current rankings of richest fellows in each continent. All the Haralds he sees are probably too old for Leon, or too ugly. None of them look like a match for his little brother. Yao buries his head in his hands and groans. If this Harald kid isn’t on any of these lists, it can only mean one thing.

Whoever Leon’s bringing home will essentially be a peasant.


	3. Passing Seasons

He probably should’ve noticed the moment they got on the plane.

Even though Harald and his brother have had the privilege of travelling to a different country once a year since they were young, all of their flights have been spent taking the economy class. But on the flight to Hong Kong, he and Leon were accosted by a smiling flight attendant right at Heathrow Airport and lead to the very front of their plane, where they have their own private suite.

He’s in said suite now, the divider up between him and his boyfriend while he calls Stellan before takeoff.

“This flight probably costs more than what I make in a year!” He exclaims. “Leon said the tickets probably got mixed up or something, but in that case it’s the luckiest damn mixup ever. Look at this place!” Harald moves his phone around to display his surroundings. “The seats are so soft I could melt into them.”

On his phone, Stellan’s eyes widen at the sight of the cabin. “My goodness, I’ve lived in college dorms smaller than that.”

“I know, right? Leon’s on the other side of this divider, having a pre-flight cocktail. I didn’t even know that was a thing, for fuck’s sake! Imagine getting drunk before you’re even in the air.”

“Did Leon tell you where the two of you will be staying, by the way?”

“I think we’re staying in a hotel,” he replies. “He’s been really secretive about this trip, even though it’s so important.”

Stellan frowns. “Oh, that’s not good. Has he been acting differently lately?”

“No, not really. But I’m a little nervous, going so far away while knowing so little.”

“That’s natural. Remember to look out for yourself, especially since you don’t know much about Leon’s family and friends in Hong Kong.”

The intercom crackles above. “Cabin crew, prepare for takeoff.”

“Take care.” Stellan’s eyes crinkle as he gives a rare smile. “Call me if anything happens, okay? Even if it’s three in the morning for me I’ll get up to listen.”

“Thanks, Stell. I have to go now, but I’ll call again when I get to Hong Kong. See you.”

“Bye.”

He lowers the divider in the cabin after he’s hung up. “I’m still in shock,” Harald tells Leon. “How on earth did the airline mess up this much to our favour?”

“We’re just lucky, I guess.” Leon slides him a flute of champagne, eyes already slightly-glazed over. “It’s a good start to our trip. You nervous?”

“A little,” he admits. “It’ll be my first time to Asia, for one, and I’ll be meeting all your old friends _and_ your family. What if they don’t like me?”

Leon cups his cheek, smiling tipsily. “They’re all going to love you, I promise.”

The aircraft rumbles and begins to move. He leans over to nuzzle his neck. “If you say so.”

…

Thirteen hours later, a very disoriented Harald clings on to Leon’s arm while they stumble through the Hong Kong International Airport. Groups of people are milling around, searching for the washroom, baggage pickup or both. Despite not having been back in years, Leon seems to know his way around perfectly and manages to get the two of them out of the airport without a hitch.

A neatly-dressed lady is waiting for them outside the airport, standing by a limousine with a pleasant smile. “Welcome to Hong Kong, Mr. Wang and Mr. Grieg,” she greets. “We are here to take you to the Four Seasons Hotel. Would you like us to help you with your luggage?”

“Wait, wh - “

“Yes, please.” Leon nods to their cart of suitcases, and a group of workers immediately exit the limousine to pick them up. “Thank you very much.”

“Leon, what the hell is going on?” He hisses. “Isn’t the Four Seasons one of Hong Kong’s most expensive - “

“Just relax, babe.” He pecks Harald on the forehead. “I know what I’m doing.”

He leads him into the limousine and sits him down on the plush velvet seat. Harald stares out the window, as though about to try and escape any moment. “Is this another mixup?”

“I hope not.” Leon places his hand over his and smiles. “I just wanted you to be able to stay at the best place possible while here.”

He gapes at the limousine, at the people still carrying their suitcases and stowing them in the trunk. “How much did all this cost?”

Leon fidgets, suddenly looking down. “Uh…” he mumbles, “thirteen thousand six hundred pounds - “

“What - “

“ - per night.”

“ _WHAT?_ ” He nearly leaps out of his seat. “We can’t afford this! How long did you save up for the stay? Did you have to sell anything? How deep in debt are we? What the flying, soaring, somersaulting _shit_ \- “

“Harald!” Leon wraps an arm around him. “I promise we’re not bankrupt or anything like that. I just happen to be friends with some people who work at the hotel, and they managed to get us a special discount. Really, you don’t have to worry about it.”

“You could’ve at least warned me. If I’d known we’d be picked up in a limo, I wouldn’t have boarded the plane looking like a hungover college kid.”

“I think you look as cute as ever.”

“Shut up.”

They begin to drive away from the airport. Harald can’t help perking up to look out the window, staring in awe at the massive white bridge they leave Lantau Island on, then the rolling countryside mingling with the occasional building. 

They pass schools, shipping ports, shopping malls galore, but the most stunning sight is that of Hong Kong Island. Soaring skyscrapers are a massive contrast to the few colonial buildings left, and everywhere, pedestrians of all kinds mill around. 

Leon snuggles into him, squashing him against the window. “So what do you think?”

“It’s beautiful.” They pass a mall that looks like a miniature version of New York’s Times Square. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Wait ‘til you see our hotel.”

The limo pulls up in front of the Four Seasons and Harald’s jaw drops. This can’t be their hotel, it just _can’t_. The representative opens the door for them and leads them into the grand, gleaming building while their luggage is being taken care of. Still in shock, Harald steps into the stunning lobby and looks around. Not even the W Hotel, reputed as one of London’s best hotels, is this extravagant.

The elevator is transparent, letting them look out onto the busy streets of Wan Chai. He can’t stop pinching himself, for this breathtaking building can’t be where he’s staying.

The biggest shock comes when they open the door to their suite.

“What _is_ this?” Harald can’t even bring himself to step inside. The suite looks more like the living apartments of some Western monarch of old, with plush, elegantly-carved furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows showing the view and an actual _chandelier_ hanging from the painted ceiling. Their suitcases are already there, opened up in their bedroom and waiting to be unpacked. 

Leon is already making himself comfortable, pulling his clothes out of his suitcase and picking some out to wear after his shower. He looks at Harald, who’s still partially in shock. “What’re you waiting for?”

He gingerly enters the suite, eyes wide. He can’t even speak.

While Leon busies himself with showering, Harald takes out his phone and calls his brother. 

“How was your flight?” Is the first thing Stellan asks after picking up.

“It was amazing. The food was great, for one, and in the middle of the flight the attendants flattened my seat into a bed. But that’s not the point.” Harald flips his phone’s camera around and moves it around his room. “This is the hotel suite Leon booked for us!”

He sits in silence for a while, quietly observing the room. “Well,” he finally says, “that’s certainly… something.”

“It’s a lot.”

“How much did this cost?”

“Too much, that’s for sure.” Harald glances at the bathroom. He’ll have to shower after Leon. “Thankfully Leon has friends here and pulled some strings so we can stay here cheaper.”

Stellan glances at something out of the camera - probably his husband - and waves him away. “It should be about three in the afternoon in Hong Kong right now. What do you have planned for the rest of the day?”

“I’m going to shower first. How ‘bout you?”

“I have an interview this afternoon, but that’s about it,” he says. “Have fun in Hong Kong, okay?”

“I will. Good luck in your interview.”

They chat for a while more before Leon is finally done with his shower and it’s his turn to freshen up. Even the bathroom is fancy - everything’s made of marble, the towels are still-warm and the soap fragrant. He almost wants to stay in there forever until he remembers he has a city to explore.

Leon is on his phone, sitting on their massive bed when he comes out. “My brother and a friend of mine are meeting us at the hotel lobby in five minutes.”

“Your friend?”

“Her name’s Ling,” he explains. “She’s from Taiwan and pretty famous in the fashion world - her store opened a branch in Milan just last month.”

“Ooh.” Harald flops down next to him. The sheets are impossibly soft. “Woah, this is the best bed I’ve ever slept in.”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Leon jokes. “We have go to down to the lobby.”

He reluctantly gets up from the bed and follows him out of the suite.

…

Vicente and Ling are waiting for them at the doors of the hotel. Leon waves at them, hand in hand with his boyfriend, and power-walks towards them as fast as he can without looking like he’s running. 

“Jia Lin!” Ling rushes forward and envelopes him in a hug, laughing, “it’s been too long! You’re way taller now and your hair’s no longer a disaster but I see you still have shit fashion sense!”

His brother ruffles his hair. “Well, you can’t blame him. Londoners are even worse.”

Leon squirms out of Ling’s arms. “Why is it that the first thing you two do after seeing me is to roast me?”

“Is that your boyfriend?” She abandons Leon to approach Harald. “Hello there! Welcome to Hong Kong!”

With a skittish glance at him, Harald manages a smile. “Hi. My name’s Harald, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“No need to be so formal _lah_ , just saying ‘hi’ is enough.” Ling stops in front of him, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I’m Yue Ling, but people always manage to mess up ‘Yue’ despite it being a three-letter word so just call me Ling.”

“Uh, sure.”

Vicente gives Leon another slap on the shoulder before going to greet Harald. “Hi again. I don’t think you forgot who I am, right?”

“No, who are you?”

“Shut up.” 

“So!” Leon interrupts. “Where do you want to go?”

Ling turns to him. “Shouldn’t you be the one deciding that? You’re the one who hasn’t been back for a while.” 

Where to go first? There are so many old spots he simply has to revisit, but what sort of place will give Harald a good impression of his home city? Then his stomach growls. “I say we go eat something first.”

“Why don’t we go to _Chu’s_ , then?” Vicente suggests.

“It’s still up?”

“Of course. I don’t think anyone would have the heart to close that place down.”

“Hell yeah.” Leon goes to take Harald’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “I haven’t had their milk tea in, like, forever.”

Fifteen minutes later, the four of them are seated on rickety plastic chairs around a table, surrounded by shouting customers and waiters alike. He stares at the menu flattened to the table by the pane of glass and tries to decide exactly what he should order. These are foods he won’t be able to find anywhere outside Hong Kong, from garlic-fried noodles to fresh fishballs to egg custard that’s actually good, and every one of them gives him a pang of nostalgia.

Harald is pressed up next to him, squinting at the characters. “I understand all these words separately.”

He points at one of the dishes. “That one’s Hong Kong-style French toast. The one next to it is a, uh…” _How do you translate this into English?_ “A toasted bun with condensed milk.”

They place their orders soon after. It feels amazing to be able to speak Cantonese again, to be surrounded by his mother tongue like a warm blanket. The chatter of the restaurant makes him feel like a secondary school student again, having afternoon tea after a long day of class. Leon takes a sip of his creamy milk tea and indulges himself with the memories for a while. 

His phone rings in the middle of one of Vicente’s story. He looks at his screen, rolling his eyes when he realises it’s Yao. “Hello?”

“Ka Long! You’re back in Hong Kong now, right?”

“Yeah. I’m coming over for dinner tonight in case you forgot.”

“I know, I know. Did you bring that boyfriend of yours along?”

How did Yao know he brought Harald over? Better not to question. Leon sighs. “Yes.”

“What’s his full name?”

“Harald Grieg.”

“ _Aiyah_ , you brought a _gwai zai_ home?”

He grits his teeth. “Why does it matter if he’s a Westerner or not?”

“No, no, it doesn’t. I’m just surprised, that’s all. What does he do for a living?”

“He’s the head chef at the Dragon Room.”

“Really now?” Yao says incredulously. “Very impressive. Educational background?”

“He didn’t go to university - “

“HE DROPPED OUT!?”

“No, he made the decision not to go.” Leon shoots his boyfriend an apologetic look even though he knows he can’t understand the conversation. “He went to culinary school and got a diploma.”

“Which culinary school?”

“No clue.”

“Okay, sure. What’s his net worth? If you don’t know, what’s his family’s?”

“I don’t know that either.”

“How many houses does he own?”

Leon blinks. Only his brother would want to know his partners’ property statistics. He prods Harald. “This is a stupid question, but how many houses does your family own?”

“There’s the house in Trondheim, which is the one my brother’s living in, and we have a summer home in Akureyri. Why do you ask?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He parrots that information to Yao. 

“Only two houses?” Yao repeats, disappointed. Leon resists the urge to throw his phone. “How many cars, then?”

“One.”

“Ugh, of course. Boats?”

He pokes Harald again. “Another stupid question, but do you have any boats?”

“Stellan and I have a motorboat we used to go out to sea with,” he replies. “What’s with you suddenly taking interest in the stuff I own?”

“It’s nothing, really.” Leon pecks him on the forehead. Across the table, Ling makes a face. He tells Yao over the phone, “he has a motorboat.”

“No yachts?”

“No yachts,” Leon confirms. 

There’s silence on the other side for a long time. Then Yao finally asks quietly, “so you’re dating someone with no university education, two houses, one car and only one boat?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” He half-shouts in English. Some people from other tables turn to stare at him. “Who cares if Harald’s not a multibillionaire? I love him, and that’s that!”

“He doesn’t even have a yacht!”

_One more comment on Harald’s lack of yachts and I will throw this phone across the room,_ Leon seethes internally. “Quit your judging for now. You can make up your mind when Harald comes over for dinner tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only old, antiquated HongKongers like Yao use "gwai zai" - literally "ghost kid" to describe Westerners. Most of the younger generation, like Leon, are aware that this is a derogatory term, and tend to stray away from it.


	4. The Pulse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another OC in this chapter:
> 
> Lauren Tan - Singapore

_8 Repulse Bay Road, Hong Kong_

For two people who’ve only known each other for a few months, Linh has to say they’re getting along pretty well.

The marrying couple probably only hired them both for the news coverage, because who in their right mind would commission two chefs with two entirely different styles who’ve never met before to work on something as important as a wedding cake?

At least she gets free dinners out of it.

Next to her, holding his chopsticks in one hand and a pencil in another, fellow celebrity chef Somchai Aakara stares at his sketchbook, flipping through pages upon pages of wedding cake sketches. “The bride says she wants the cake to ‘consist of a delicate _melange_ of French and Chinese elements’, whatever that means.”

“It means we make a _croquembouche_ , slap a red dragon on top and call it a day,” Linh says drily. 

He snorts. “But seriously, does she want it to taste or look like an ungodly Franco-Chinese combination?”

“Damn if I know. All rich people are vague.” She plucks the sketchbook from right under Somchai and closes it. “Let’s take a break on it tonight. We’ve been losing sleep over the stupid wedding banquet for the past four months, we can afford to take an evening off.” Linh nibbles at a bundle of noodles. looking out at the large buffet line across the enormous dining room. “Come on, people-watch with me for tonight.”

Somchai obliges. He takes a sip from the glass of white wine resting in front of him and turns his chair to face the crowd. “Didn’t Yao say this would be a simple dinner?”

“There are less than two hundred people here.” 

“And that’s simple?”

“Dunno.” Linh shrugs. “Yao probably thinks so.” She squints at a table a few meters away from them. “Oh look, there’s Yong-Soo Im. Can’t believe he’s not being followed by his horde of rabid fans.”

“I saw Yao’s security prying them off of him when he came in. The guy’s so popular it’s scary.”

Linh turns her view to another table this time and her jaw drops. “Holy shit, is that Gabriella Sabularse?”

Somchai practically clambers over her to get a look. “It is. D’you think she’s going to the wedding?”

“Of course she is, anyone who’s anything will be there. Why is she here now, though?”

“Probably looking for more juicy gossip, if you ask me.” He drinks from his wineglass again, eyeing Ella warily. “Wasn’t she the one who let it slip that Vicente and Madeline were dating?”

“Mmhmm. We wouldn’t be stuck here, at the whims of Madeline Bonnefoy, if not for her.”

“I don’t know whether to thank her or punch her for that.”

“Hey, who’s that she’s looking at.” Linh follows Ella’s gaze to a table at the corner of the room, where Leon is eating his dinner. She doesn’t recognise the guy he’s sitting with at first, but when she gets a full view of his face, she has to rub her eyes to make sure she’s not hallucinating. “Somchai.”

“What?”

She points to the man discretely. He’s looking around him, wide-eyed, and out-of-place in his non-designer clothes. But plainness aside, there’s no hiding who he is. “That’s Harald Grieg.”

“The Harald Grieg?” Somchai repeats. “The Dragon Room’s head chef?”

“That’s the one. The place got into the Pepin top one hundred restaurants list just a year after he took charge. Oh goodness, I can’t believe we’re getting to see him in person.”

“Well, no surprise. You did say that anyone who’s anything is going to the wedding.”

Linh squints at him. “Grieg is hardly known outside the restaurant world, though, and he’s nowhere as rich as these folk. What if he’s going to be Leon’s plus-one?”

“As his boyfriend, you mean? Yao would lose his mind.”

She’s about to reply when she sees Madeline approaching them, probably to interrogate them about the cake. “Fuck, fuck, pissy bride at twelve o’clock. Grab your book and look busy!”

…

Harald’s been at the house for three hours and he still can’t process it all.

The moment he and Leon arrived, a group of servants showed up to offer them hot towels to wipe their hands with. Then another pair arrived to take their coats for them and carry their bags up to one of the living rooms, where most of the people were. The place feels even bigger than the W Hotel, and somehow even fancier than their suite at the Four Seasons - which he didn’t even know was possible.

The dining room looks like a replica of some three-Michelin-starred restaurant, with a glittering chandelier hanging from the ceiling, tables covered with glossy silk coverings and chairs with elaborately-carved backs that must be a nightmare to clean. Leon’s introduced him to most of his friends, most of which seem filthy rich like he apparently is.

“I didn’t know you were this rich,” he tells his boyfriend while having dinner. 

“We’re just fortunate,” Leon defends. 

“That’s rich-people talk for ‘I am so incredibly wealthy that now I think I’m a commoner’.”

“Ouch.” He presses a hand to his chest in mock offence. “Well, you don’t seem very surprised.”

Harald looks him right in the eye and deadpans, “we live in a house in London, and you refuse to shop anywhere but Waitrose’s. It was pretty obvious.”

“Oh.”

Someone suddenly breaks free from the cluster of gossipers near the buffet line and collapses into the seat next to his. “Why did I decide to show up?”

Leon grins at the girl, who looks just about ready to die. “Can’t imagine seeing you here, Lauren.”

“Says the persistent bastard who wouldn’t give in until I agreed to show up.” Lauren rubs her temples, groaning, “fuck you, by the way.”

“Love you too.” 

“So this is the infamous boyfriend?” She turns her attention to Harald. “Huh. Not bad.”

“Hi.” Harald’s voice cracks. “Are you a friend of Leon’s?”

“I guess you could say that. I worked at that flashy hotel of his while studying for my master’s at Oxford, and he just grew on me.” Lauren bites into a steamed dumpling, adding, “and now I’m stuck with him here.”

“I pity the poor kids who have you as their professor,” Leon mutters.

Harald tries to stifle his laughter. At least there’s one normal-acting person this dinner. 

“Oh look, there’s the old man.”

True to Leon’s word, Yao is rising from his table and approaching theirs. “What do I say to him? How do I greet him? What - “

“Don’t think too much about it.”

“That’s not very helpful!” He hastily stands up when Yao reaches the table and forces a smile. “Hello.”

“Ka Long!” He pulls Leon in a hug, laughing, “ _Aiyah_ , you look so thin! Is the awful English food not enough for you? I told you all those years ago that you’d starve to death in England, and did you listen?”

“I’m fine _lah_ , don’t worry about me.” He pushes Yao away. “Anyways, I want you to meet my boyfriend Harald.”

Yao looks at him, eyes narrowed. “Ah, Harald the yacht-less.”

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing, I’m just messing with you.” He smiles. “I hear you work at the Dragon Room?”

He nods. “I’m the head chef there.”

“Very impressive. You won an award as one of the UK’s most talented young chefs this June, didn’t you?”

“Yes, that was me.”

Yao’s expression softens, and he says, “well, I’m glad Leon is together with someone with talent. But if you don’t mind asking, wherever did you train? With your skills, I assume you studied at one of the _Cordon Bleu_ academies?”

“No, actually,” Harald corrects, “I just went to a vocational centre in Trondheim, where I grew up, right after high school. My brother thought I wasn’t ready to leave the country just yet.”

“Your brother?”

“Yeah, his name is Stellan.” After that, he adds sheepishly, “his full name is Stellan Grieg. Have you heard of him before?”

Yao furrows his brow. “It does ring a bell. Is he famous or something?”

“He’s a writer. Maybe you’ve read one of his books before.”

“Maybe. Well, I have to go now, but it was very nice meeting you. See you at the wedding.”

“See you,” Harald echoes. He waits until Yao is out of earshot before turning back to Leon. “Oh my goodness, he hates me.”

“No, he doesn’t.” 

He pushes Leon down onto his chair and sits square on his lap, ignoring how both of them blush. “I bet he’s planning to assassinate me.”

“Come on, don’t worry.” Leon pecks him on the cheek. “Yao doesn’t show his emotions much, but he has to like you. Everyone likes you.”

…

“Well?” Ella is onto Yao the moment he sits down, eyes glittering with curiosity. “Anything new about Harald?”

“His brother couldn’t afford to send him outside the country!” Yao bemoans. “I could’ve accepted it if he’d gone to one of those French or Swiss schools to train, but some nobody vocational centre in Norway? I couldn’t name a culinary school there if I tried!”

“Oh my goodness, he must be really poor, then. Did he really say his brother didn’t have enough money to send him elsewhere?”

“No, but he did say that his brother was a writer.”

Ella sniggers. “A writer! They’re definitely broke. I can’t imagine what Leon sees in him.”

“Well, they’ll break up soon enough,” Yao says dismissively. “At least, they better.”


	5. Seaside

_Auberge Discovery Bay, Hong Kong_

In the dressing room, Madeline is losing her shit.

“This is happening,” she mutters to herself. “This is happening, whether we like it or not, but of course we like it because why would we be getting married otherwise? Vic is going to look great, I am going to look great and everything is going to be fine.”

Hoisting up her wedding dress, her maid of honour asks, “are you done?” Eva de Vries’s (co-founder of De Vries Chocolate, of course) arms look about ten seconds away from giving in and sending the two-million-dollar gown, five-carat diamond neckline and all, crashing to the ground.

Madeline rubs her temples. “I’m done. I’m fine. May I have my dress?”

Eva hands it over dutifully. She, along with the other bridesmaids, are already dressed in their gowns. The stunning sea-foam white chiffon dresses, with a rippling bodice and sleeves that resemble softly-rolling waves, are stunning, though not stunning enough to outshine the bride. Fashion critics have written whole articles on Madeline’s wedding gown, with its thousand-dollar neckline, mother-of-pearl waistline and an entirely hand-woven skirt.

Always eager to please, Erika (sister of famous watchmaker Basch Zwingli) flurries over to help Madeline zip up her dress. “You’re going to do fine,” she reassures. “Take deep breaths and smile.”

She exhales, staring into the mirror while doing her hair. “I can’t believe this is finally happening.”

“Neither can any of us,” Erzsébet Hédérváry (possibly the best percussionist the Viennese Philharmonic has seen) cracks. “Remember all those years ago when we thought you two would crash and burn?”

Still in the process of lacing up her elaborate hairdo, Natalia snorts derisively. “They’re so disgustingly romantic I don’t think their marriage will ever go bad.” She stands up, hands swiftly moving through her hair. “A hundred Euros that Vicente’s going to cry.”

Her girlfriend raises her head lazily. “Make it five hundred.”

“That’s too much.”

“Two hundred fifty. Final offer.” Ling joins her side and pecks her on the cheek.

“Ugh.” Natalia finishes her hairdo, grumbling, “you’re lucky I love you.”

Madeline rolls her eyes good-naturedly. All her nerves seem to have faded away, and now, resplendent in her gown, a silver diadem braided into her hair and her makeup impeccable, paints the image of a perfect bride. “Are you two really making bets on my soon-to-be husband?”

“Fifty Euros that _you’re_ going to cry,” Erzsébet says.

Eva grins. “Sold.”

…

“Move it to the left. No, wait, a bit more to the right. Bring it a bit further back. To the left again.”

Leon hefts the pot, holding a small wisteria tree, up for the fourth time. “For fuck’s sake, make up your mind already.”

“Well, I’m _sorry_ the pot is weird.” Vicente clutches his head. He looks pale. “Yes, that’s just right. This way the branches will form a sort of arch over us.”

On the other end of the chapel, Kiku Sugihara (heir of Sugihara Publishing) straightens the cream-coloured carpet and sighs. “How much longer until the guests arrive?”

“Ten minutes, so we better hurry.” He points at Harald, busy tying ribbons and bouquets at the ends of each pew. “How many do you have left?”

“Five, I think,” Harald calls back. His fingers are starting to feel bruised. “What else do we need to do?”

Vicente absent-mindedly dusts off the front pew, where he and Leon will be sitting. “Nothing, really. I think the after-ceremony lunch is all organised, this place looks okay and no scandals have broken out yet. All that’s left is the mental preparation.”

“Having cold feet?” Harald asks.

“No, I just…” he sits down, letting the other three men crowd around him. “After this, I’m going to get to call Madeline my wife, and I can wear a wedding ring, and oh my goodness, it’s going to be amazing.”

“He is _so_ going to cry,” Kiku mutters to Leon.

News reporters are shouting outside the chapel, and among their incoherent sentences, Harald can make out a few questions. “Oh boy, I think the first guests are showing up.”

As though on cue, Yao and someone else burst into the chapel, deep in conversation. Vicente dives behind his pew to hide. 

“He owns two houses, not a single mansion, and a motorboat like some common fisherman - “ Yao stops in his tracks when he sees Harald. “Oh, I see you’ve arrived early to help with the preparations! Very nice of you.” 

“Uh, thanks.” 

Yao steps aside and gestures to the person behind him. “This is Francis Bonnefoy, CEO of Bonnefoy Hotels.”

His face lights up. “Oh! I’ve worked at one of their hotels right out of culinary school. The one in Sweden, to be exact.”

“You let this rube into your hotel?” Yao hisses.

Francis pushes him back and forces a smile. “Yes, I think I remember you!”

“Really? I was just a line cook there, I didn’t expect you to notice me, let alone remember me.”

Their smile wavers slightly. “Well, I saw your, er, skill, and simply could not forget it. You have come so far since then!”

Harald tries to smile despite the fact that he literally just heard Yao call him a rube. “Thanks,” he says again.

“The chapel looks beautiful,” Francis remarks. “It feels like just yesterday I was dragging Madeline to primary school. I can’t believe she’s finally getting married.”

“I know, right?” Yao strides down the aisle while the usher runs after him and tries to get him to sit in his assigned seat. “They grow so quickly.”

The door opens again, and in come a pair of teenagers. The redheaded one is dominating the conversation, chattering on about what sounds like a drawing platform. “Medibang sucks! We should start using that Adobe stuff, it’s not like we can’t afford it. My father uses Adobe to design all his buildings, I bet that’s why they turn out gr - “ He bumps into Harald.

“Er, hi.”

The boy draws himself up to his full height of about a hundred and forty-five centimetres and announces, “we’re here for the wedding. My name is Niklas Oxenstierna-Väinämöinen, and this is Jo Edelstein.”

It takes about twenty seconds of expectant staring for Harald to realise that this Niklas kid mistook him for the usher. Does he really look that common among these other millionaires? “Well…”

“Jo!” A man rushes into the chapel and gathers the kid next to Niklas into his arms. “I told you to wait for me and Nik’s fathers, that way you wouldn’t get lost. What if you’d gotten into the wrong chapel?”

“What wrong chapel?” Jo mutters. “This is the only chapel in, like, a million-metre radius.”

“Don’t you give me cheek, we need to be polite today.” He crosses his arms indignantly. “The sister of my very good friend is getting married. Now, let’s wait for Nik’s fathers, all right?”

Jo, pouting and miffed, lets the man lead him back to Niklas.

The aforementioned fathers enter the chapel a few moments later, both of them dressed to the nines in designer suits. They don’t really catch Harald’s attention until he sees the couple that follows them in. His jaw drops. “Stell?”

His older brother, looking thoroughly awkward in his suit, stares back at him. “Well, hello.”

“Don’t ‘hello’ me, why are you here?” Harald gestures to his brother-in-law, who’s grinning at him. “Why is Henrik here?”

“Right, so it’s kind of a long story, but basically Berwald, that guy over there - “ Henrik points to the taller of Niklas’ fathers - “had a deal with a brand I was modelling for where they’d hold a photo-shoot at the new building he helped design or something. And he and his husband decided to bring us here because why the hell not and because their son is friends with a kid whose father is friends with the guy whose brother is getting married today.”

“I was unaware that you’d be going to the same wedding.” Stellan rubs his temples. “You mean to tell me that Leon’s brother is getting married in a place like this?”

“Apparently,” Harald says. “His family is a lot more, er, comfortable than I thought, that’s for sure. We really need to sit down together after the ceremony.” He suddenly feels a grip on his arm and is pulled away roughly to face a wide-eyed Yao. “I’m sorry, were you trying to tell me something?”

“You’re telling me that Henrik Dansen is your brother-in-law?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Francis chimes in, “isn’t he like Denmark’s Top Model or something?”

“He earns _millions_ , and he’s nowhere near retirement!” Yao half-shouts. “Tell your brother congratulations for me.”

Harald blinks. “They’ve already been married for nine years, but sure.”

The reporters outside are getting louder. The loudest seems to be drafting their article, listing out, “the Bonnefoy-Wang wedding will be attended by some of the world’s richest and most famous, including K-Pop sensation Yong-Soo Im, real-estate goddess Gabriella Sabularse and Lord Arthur Kirkland, Earl of Leicester. Stay tuned for more on this event’s most interesting guests!”

The crowd at the entrance of the chapel is growing by the second, and the poor panicking usher begins pushing them to sit down in the pews. Harald finds himself pushed down next to Berwald and his husband, both of whom are looking expectantly at the altar. “The Edelsteins are friends with quite some people, aren’t they?” His husband says. “This looks grander than the royal wedding!”

Berwald shrugs. “I could do better.”

“Oh, I’m sure you could, Berwald ‘I close my eyes and think and suddenly the next Sistine Chapel is on my blueprint’ Oxenstierna.” He laughs. “Niklas has certainly made the strangest school friends.”

“Mmhmm.”

The chapel falls silent as the officiant enters and the ceremony begins.

…

“You know how tedious Yao gets with his speeches,” Leon mutters, fifteen minutes into the ceremony. “Why did you let him talk?”

“Filial piety, respect for my elders, et cetera et cetera.” Vicente wrings his hands. “Without Mother and Father here he’s the only one socially accepted to give the opening speech.”

Five more minutes of droning later, their older brother finally takes his seat, and Francis bounds up to speak. Thankfully, their dramatics manage to wake up most of the guests - probably the only time they’ll be useful. Leon pinches himself to keep his eyes from drooping.

Once Francis’ speech (far shorter, to everyone’s relief) is finished, the officiant gestures for the groom to stand at the altar. Taking a loud, deep breath, Vicente rises and takes his position. Leon follows.

From his spot, he has full view of all the wedding guests — of Kiku and Ella doing their best to look interested, of celebrities showing off the best parts of their outfits, and, towards the back, Harald. Their eyes meet, and Harald smiles at him. One day, it’ll be the two of them standing at an altar.

Then it’s time for the bride to enter. First come the four bridesmaids, dressed in plain white dresses that flutter in the wind. In the pews, little Jo waves to their mother, who reaches halfway down the aisle before Madeline enters.

There’s no denying that she’s stunning. The neckline of her dress is laden with diamonds, each one of them winking and flashing in the sunlight. The waistline is equally shiny, gleaming almost as brightly as the sun itself. Unlike most wedding dresses, hers doesn’t have a train, and her white slippers poke out from beneath the hem of the many-layered, cloud-like skirt. 

Next to Leon, Vicente lets out a soft sigh. His shoulders relax.

Leon barely listens to the vows that the two of them exchange, seeing only how their faces are awash with happiness. His brother looks close to tears, a trembly smile coming across his face when he finally says, in front of the entire chapel, “I do.”

The officiant waits until Vicente and Madeline have put their rings on to proclaim, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”


	6. Soaring Gold

_Peninsula Hotel, Hong Kong_

“ _Wah diuuuu_ , you tried to ask out a Diocesan alumni? I bet she turned you down before you could say ‘five double stars’.”

“I finally got that apartment in Qatar! It cost an arm and a leg, but it was worth it. Do you think I should go for a place in California, next?”

“Hold on, which province did you say your sister moved to?”

A million conversations seem to be happening at the same time, a cacophony of voices filling Harald’s head as he tries to find his table. The dining room is massive, at least three times as big as the entirety of the Dragon Room back in London, and he has no idea where he’s supposed to be sitting.

“Babe!”

Leon grabs him from behind and presses a not-so-sneaky kiss to the tip of his ear. He can feel his ears getting warm. “I was wondering where you’d gone off to. Come on, our table’s right next to the happy couple’s.”

He’s lead to a table near the centre of the room, covered in a pure-white tablecloth and set with elegant porcelain plates. Ling is already sitting there, deep in conversation with the blonde next to her. Also at the table are Lauren, Berwald and his husband.

“Why the fuck are you grading papers?” Leon exclaims incredulously.

“Because I care more about my students than this massive dinner that’s probably going to last three hours, that’s why,” Lauren shoots back. “Heaven forbid some of us actually have to work for a living.”

He presses a hand to his chest in mock offence. “Oh wow, so hurtful. I feel deeply wounded.”

Rolling his eyes, Harald sits down. Next to him is Berwald’s husband, who smiles at him. “Well, hello again!”

“Hi.”

“I don’t think I’ve introduced myself yet.” He extends his hand. “My name is Timo Väinämöinen. This is my husband Berwald.”

Berwald shakes his hand next, saying quietly, “I believe I know your brother?”

“My brother-in-law, actually,” Harald corrects. “Henrik says you’re the reason he and Stell got to come here.”

“Speaking of Henrik,” Ling cuts in, “is nobody going to talk about how he looked in that suit of his? I may be a lesbian, but hot _damn_.”

The woman next to her scrunches her face up slightly in dissatisfaction.

“Don’t be jealous, Nat.” She giggles and kisses her temple. “The man’s a pancake, unlike you.”

“A pancake?” Nat rolls her eyes. “He’s a _crepe_.”

Harald chokes on his water. 

"No, really! His ass is so flat you could use it as a desk."

Once he's recovered from his choking fit, he groans, "the worst part is, you're not even _wrong_."

…

A few tables away, many-named Arthur is sitting with Francis, Roderich, Erzsébet, Jo and Niklas, nibbling daintily on the pig’s-ears biscuits served before the banquet is due to start. He occasionally throws a glance towards the married couple’s table, where Vicente and Madeline are practically sitting on each other’s lap. “Goodness gracious, how much do you think they spent on this wedding?”

“Including the chapel, the after-ceremony lunch, the Rolls-Royce that drove them here, this dining room, the banquet, the complimentary party favours, the lucky draw involving twenty-four-karat gold jewellery as well as iPhones and however much it took to get - or bribe, I guess - Mr. Edelstein to perform, I assume the entire thing cost at least three million Hong Kong dollars,” Niklas pipes up. He snatches the last biscuit before Arthur can and crunches it loudly. “Give or take a million or so.”

The adults all stare at him in shock. Roderich leans over to whisper to Arthur, “see, this hip new Scandinavian education system that treats kids like human beings lets them pull things like this. But again, he’s not even wrong…”

Francis smiles and pats Niklas on the head. “You were very close. The wedding actually cost five million. Five million Euros, that is.”

His eyes widen. “Euros!?”

“ _Oui_ , Euros. I am pretty sure that’s more than the GDP of some countries.”

Jo looks around them, big eyes taking in every bit of the room’s extravagance. “If I ever get married, I’m going to do it in a park or something. The guests can wear whatever they want and the only food we serve will be the wedding cake.”

“Nonsense, I’ll organise your wedding in St. Stephen’s Cathedral.”

They blow a raspberry at their father. 

Erzsébet points at the table next to the couple’s. “Say, isn’t that Vicente’s brother?”

“That’s Leon, all right.” Francis takes a sip of white wine, swirling it around the glass. “He even brought along a common boy. Poor Yao, can you imagine what he’s thinking?”

“Nothing good, that’s for sure,” Roderich tuts. “At least Leon’s not trying to marry him. The continent would go up in flames.”

Arthur clicks his tongue disapprovingly. He’s looking at another table, where the more famous guests are sitting. “I know his brother, who attended my luncheons while on tour in England. The two of them are fine fellows, I must admit, but unfit to marry into the Wang family.”

“That guy dresses funny,” Jo says. “At least, he doesn’t dress like the rest of us. Nik thought he was the usher when we got to the chapel.”

“Sounds about right!” Francis laughs. “Nobody would expect somebody of his upbringing to know how to dress.”

A group of waiters enter the room, holding a number of steaming dishes. Roderich sits up straighter and elbows his child sharply. “Put that tablet of yours away, now. The banquet is starting.”

…

“This is incredible,” Harald says for what feels like the millionth time. Course after course has been served, each plate presenting a clever fusion dish he never would have thought of. Nothing at the Dragon Room could ever compare.

“Vic hired two of Asia’s best chefs to make tonight’s banquet, plus their wedding cake.” Leon nibbles at a forkful of buttery Arborio rice before setting it down on his almost-finished plate of white-truffle garlic butter and Hangzhou shrimp risotto. “The desserts are going to blow you away.”

He nods gratefully at the waiter who takes his dish away. “I want to meet the chefs behind this one day.” The next dish is placed down, and Harald stares down at it. On the plate is a mini sculpture made of sorbet, shaped like a rosebush with tiny candy flowers and caramel branches. “You’d have to be some kind of genius to think of this.”

“I think you’re plenty genius yourself,” Leon quips. He swallows his first bite of sorbet before kissing him briefly. His lips taste of mint.

Soon, dessert is over and a pair of waiters wheel out the massive wedding cake. The icing around it is pure-white, topped with narrow grey-pink filigree patterns. At the very top of the cake is a sugar butterfly, holding two thin sheets of rice paper covered in thin writing, inked with chocolate sauce. Harald peers closer and realises it’s Vicente and Madeline’s wedding vows.

“Amazing, huh?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. 

Leon stands up the moment they receive their slice, holding his plate and his dessert fork. “Grab your plate, too.”

“Won’t people notice?” Harald protests.

“They would, in most cases.” He winks at his brother, who smiles back while balancing the caramel butterfly on a plate. Vicente stands up, hand in hand with Madeline, and lift the plate up. A crowd of photographers surge forward, cameras at the ready, to capture the moment. Leon grabs his hand and tugs. “But not today.”

Holding on to his plate, Harald follows him out of the dining room, up grand staircases and past jewellery stores until they reach the topmost layer of the hotel. Leon opens the door, revealing a stunning rooftop garden. 

Nobody is there, and the only sound is that of leaves being rustled. He leads him to sit down on a cushioned loveseat that overlooks the streets and Victoria Harbour. On the other side of the Harbour, Central glows radiantly. 

“Isn’t this a better view than that stuffy dining room?” Leon eats his first forkful of cake.

Harald cuts into his slice and pops it into his mouth. It turns out to be a rich red velvet cake, dotted through with pieces of vanilla fudge and lemon crumble. He smiles. “This is good.”

“We’ve been going to parties all weekend, so it’s nice that we get some time alone.” He reaches across the loveseat to hold his hand. “I’m almost dreading going back to London. What would I do without all my crazy friends?”

He lets out a short puff of laughter. “‘Crazy’ is an understatement. No sane person would spend so much money on a wedding!”

“You said once that you’d prefer a simple wedding if you ever got married,” Leon reminisces,” and I gotta say the same. I’d go nuts organising stuff like this!”

Slice of cake finished, Harald shifts closer to snuggle up to Leon, shrugging his suit jacket off. “I love you,” he mumbles.

“Love you too.” He drops an absent kiss on the top of his head. “I actually have something to tell you.”

“Hmm?”

Leon pulls a small box out of his pocket and shows it to him. Harald’s breath hitches.

“Normally guys would get down on a knee to do this, but I don’t want to stop cuddling you so here we are.” He drops his gaze for a moment before returning it, strong and sure. “And, uh, I just love you so much and I’d like nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you.” He flicks the box open, revealing a simple silver ring. “So what I want to know is… is if you want to marry me.”

Harald’s cheeks prickle with heat. His heart is thudding wildly in his chest. “I - “ he sputters. “Of cour - “

“STOP!”

The door leading back to the hotel swings open. Standing in the doorway is Yao, arms crossed and glaring daggers at them. Leon glares back. “What are you doing here?”

Yao marches towards the loveseat. “I know what you’re doing,” he says. “Ka Long, I know you’re planning to marry Harald. And I’m here to say that you can’t. I forbid it!”


	7. Summit

“What the hell?” Leon demands. He doesn’t get up from Harald’s embrace, nor does he put the ring away. “What compelled you to interrupt our special moment? I was going to kiss Harald and give him the ring and it was going to be so gay, then you showed up and ruined everything!”

“I’ll gladly ruin your engagement, which should’ve never happened in the first place!” Yao places his hands on his hips. “How can you ask for Harald’s hand in marriage without even telling me?”

He scowls. “I’m twenty-six years old, Yao! I can make my own decisions. How did you even find out I was going to propose to him?”

“Ella told me.“

“Of course she did,” Leon mutters.

“At least, she told me you two disappeared and I connected the dots. I see that ring of yours, Ka Long. Put it away.”

He inches the ring closer to Harald and gives him a loud kiss on the cheek. “Why are you so against me marrying Harald?”

Yao marches closer to them, giving them the stink-eye. “Because,” he says slowly, as though talking to a kindergartener, “he doesn’t come from a good family.”

“Oh my goodness!” Leon throws his hands into the air. “Why are you so insistent on me seeing someone ‘from the right family’? Do you want my husband to be some stuffy noble with fifteen middle names?”

“That would be better than marrying him! His family is that of peasants.”

“Don’t talk about my family like that!” Harald bursts out. Rage, almost irrational in its intensity, flares through him and he pushes his boyfriend away to stand up. “I’m sorry Stellan and I aren’t filthy-rich enough for you, okay? But just because I’m not a millionaire doesn’t mean I’m not good enough for Leon.”

“Aiyah, our family’s reputation will be in shambles if you two actually get married!” Yao paces around. “Ka Long, keep Mister Yacht-less - “

“Enough about the yachts, for fuck’s sake!”

“ _KEEP MISTER YACHT-LESS AS YOUR SIDE HOE_ ,” he continues loudly, “and marry someone respectable! You wouldn’t be the first person in Hong Kong high society to do so. That people can accept.”

Harald clenches his fists. “I’m not going to be reduced to Leon’s whore!”

“Not his whore, his _side hoe_ ,” Yao corrects. “There’s a difference.”

“Yeah, like that’s the most important thing about this conversation.” His voice grows louder by the second, and he can feel his face heating up. “It’s not like you’re suggesting I’m some common gold-digger who’s only with Leon for his money - “

His phone rings.

All three of them freeze. Leon stares at Harald’s pocket, where his phone is. “Did you forget to put your phone on silent mode?”

“I guess?”

Yao harrumphs. “You didn’t put your phone on silent mode while dining at the Peninsula?”

“Shut up.” Harald takes his phone out and accepts the call. “Hello?”

“I know you’re probably having a special moment with Leon right now, but you have to hear this,” Stellan whispers breathlessly. “I just got pulled out of the banquet from my publisher, who called to tell me something.”

“Tell you what?”

“I still can’t believe this is happening, oh my goodness. She told me that a film company’s planning to adapt one of my books into a movie.”

“Really?” He exclaims in disbelief. “That’s amazing! When do you think it’ll be out?”

“A couple years from now, at the very least. The one they picked is the most popular book I’ve published, and…” he hesitates. “And the deal I just struck has gotten me seventy million Euros.”

“What!?”

“Yes, seventy million Euros. Most of it is going to charity, but I’m keeping a bit to finally build Roesslyng and Daisy a hutch.”

Of course his brother will be spending most of his biggest deal on his rabbits. Trying to stifle a grin, Harald says, “well, they’re sure to thank you for that. Congratulations, Stell!”

Stellan hangs up, leaving Harald to deal with Yao once again. “Who called?”

“My brother just told me he got a movie deal for one of his books, that’s all.” He looks Yao directly in the eye and smiles. “He just got seventy million Euros richer.”

Yao stumbles back as though punched in the stomach. “Wait, how much?”

…

_(A few months later…)_

_W Hotel, London_

“Apparently, the only reason Yao let Leon and I marry is because my brother suddenly struck gold.” Harald says, placing a perfectly-wrapped _xiao long bao_ onto a bamboo basket with more force than necessary. “My brother, not me. Doesn’t he know that I’m the youngest-ever winner of the Escoffier Chef Award, and the Dragon Room got into the Pepin’s 100 Best Restaurants list just a year after I became head chef?”

Roland de Vries (who was pushed by his brother to apply for a job at the Dragon Room once Stellan’s windfall became public) gently closes the lid of the basket and whisks it off, then places a new, empty on in its place. “I suppose not.”

“Well, at least he didn’t oppose us getting together any more after that.” He wraps another _xiao long bao_ , fingers swiftly pleating the edges of the dough around the chunks of minced pork and congealed broth. “Leon’s doing most of the planning for the wedding, and I made him promise not to do anything too crazy.”

“Define ‘crazy’.”

“’Crazy’ is Vicente and Madeline’s wedding. I’m pretty sure it cost more than all twenty-six years of my brother’s and my schooling combined!” The next basket of dumplings is done in under a minute and he passes it to Roland. “Go check on the steamers for me, won’t you? You know how weird the _sun choi_ can get.”

Once Roland bustles away, Harald busies himself with the next basket of xiao long bao (a bunch of Instagram foodies showed up and ordered six baskets) and squints through the tiny window at the kitchen doors into the main restaurant. They’re especially busy today, with every table occupied and a long waiting list. A waiter rushes in, glancing around nervously. He stands frozen for a few moments before running to his station. “Grieg, table three wants to talk to you.”

“Tell them I have four baskets of _xiao long bao_ , two baskets of vegetable buns, five plates of curry squid and two dishes of tofu to finish in the next twenty minutes, as well as two interns to manage because I have a hard time believing they know what they’re doing.” He slides Roland another basket. “In other words, I don’t have time for a conversation.”

The waiter walks back out. Harald gets back to work, but he feels a tap on the shoulder a few minutes later. “What is it?” He half-snaps.

“The table’s done, but they say they’re not going to leave until you go to talk to them.”

He sighs. “Give me a moment.” 

Once a pair of chefs are ready to fill in his work, he sweeps out of the kitchen and towards table three, ready to give them a piece of his mind. It’s rush hour, dammit, and he doesn’t have the time to entertain every enthusiastic diner.

Then he sees who’s sitting at the table.

Ling winks at him. “See, I told you he’d show up.”

“I’m busy. Why couldn’t you have waited until I got off work?”

“We have to seize the moment, you know?” She takes a sip from the cup of oolong tea in front of her. “We’re here right after pulling Leon out of some meeting.”

“You should’ve seen his face when we ran into the conference room, chased by three secretaries,” Vicente quips. 

“What are you guys doing here, anyway?”

Natalia pulls a magazine from her bag and tosses it onto the red-clothed table. “The Teahouse wasted no time in pouncing on your and Leon’s engagement. Just look at this cover story.”

England’s biggest gossip column has plastered one of the many engagement photos Yao insisted he and Leon take on their cover, and the caption, ‘ _One Wedding After Another - The Darjeeling on The Second Wang Pairing_ ’ is splashed on in matcha-green print. He picks up the magazine and opens it.

‘ _It seems that the billionaire Wang family of Hong Kong is in a hurry to have their two youngest brothers married off,_ ’ the first paragraph reads, ‘ _for on the evening of the marriage of Vicente Wang and Madeline Bonnefoy, Wang’s younger brother Leon publicly announced his engagement with his boyfriend of three years, Harald Grieg. Most who enjoy keeping up with the lives of the world’s top percent may ask when they hear this name,_ who _? While Grieg may not be on the level of extravagance as his boyfriend’s family, he makes up for his lack of wealth in many things - he’s head chef at Michelin restaurant the Dragon Room, has won awards for his culinary talent, and is younger brother to award-winning author Stellan Grieg. And who could forget his roguish good looks?_ ’

Harald squints at the last line, repeating, “who could forget my what?”

Madeline smirks. “Well, that’s one thing they got wrong.”

“There’s a paragraph that talks about how he ‘charmed his way into gaining Yao’s approval’ down there, which is probably the most glaring inaccuracy in the article.” Natalia grabs the magazine back and flips to another photo. This one is of him and Leon together in the kitchen of the Dragon Room. “They call you ‘the power couple of W Hotel’.”

He glances back at the kitchen, where the orders are most definitely piling up. “Okay, that’s stupid, sure, but is that all you called me out for? To look at a magazine?”

“We might have also bribed the waiter,” Vicente admits.

He rubs his temples. “Why am I not surprised?”

“See,” Ling sniggers, “you’re a natural at this crazy rich thing. Now that you’re desensitised to us pulling this kind of stuff, nothing will surprise you any more.”

“I think I lost the ability to care after I realised how much Leon offered to pay Berwald for designing the decorations for the ceremony and the event.”

“How much?”

“Ten million Euros.” Magically there, Leon strides towards their table and pushes his brother half-off his chair, squashing himself into the seat. He drawls, “I insisted, even though Berwald didn’t wait to be paid that much. He put most of it into his son’s college fund, though, so I don’t think he objected that much.”

Vicente taps him lightly on the head. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting?”

“I let everyone off early because I knew you’d be marching down here in search of Harald. You four are so predictable, you know.”

“You need to get back to work,” he lectures. After making sure none of the waiters are looking, he swoops down to kiss his fiancé on the cheek. “And so do I. Come on, let’s go.”

Leon gives him puppy-dog eyes. 

“Ugh, fine.” He lets himself be pulled onto the chair, seated snugly on Leon’s lap. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“If they’re this sickening now, can you imagine how they’ll be like after tying the knot?” Madeline asks, rolling her eyes.

“Shut up, don’t act like you two weren’t disgustingly cute the moment you got together,” Natalia jabs. 

“Right, right.” She winks at Harald. “You preparing for the wedding night yet?”

“Oh good, she's already learned the Asian culture of being overly-interested in your relatives’ sex life,” Ling groans. 

“Says Mrs. My-Wedding-Night-Involved-Lots-Of-Stepping-On-Nat-Because-I’m-A-Toesucker. Seriously, I think the entire continent knows about you-know-what.”

She turns tomato-red, exclaiming nearly loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear, “ _I don’t have a foot fetish_ , I - “

“Sure.”

“ _I DON’T!_ ”

A few people from nearby tables turn around to look at them. Harald half-falls off of Leon, face burning. He really should be back in the kitchen.

When he looks up, he notices that Leon is blushing just as hard as him. “Uh,” he stutters very intelligently, “maybe we should get back to work.”

“Mmhmm.”

The two of them stand up awkwardly. Leon saunters out of the restaurant, head held high even though his cheeks are bright red. Weaving around waiters and overzealous Instagrammers, Harald returns to the kitchen. Midway, he looks back at the four diners, packing up to leave. They smile at him, and he smiles back.

“See you at the wedding,” he mouths.


End file.
